


I'll Wait Up For You

by EllieApple



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Arguing, Christmas Fluff, Daryl Dixon Needs a Hug, Desus Holiday Bingo 2k19 (Walking Dead), Fluff, Jesus Needs a Hug (Walking Dead), M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-26
Updated: 2019-12-26
Packaged: 2021-02-27 02:47:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,570
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21965806
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EllieApple/pseuds/EllieApple
Summary: "Are you that desperate that you're coming to me for advice on your love life?" Tara mocked.Yes. Yes, he was. Because it'd been three hours since the sun had gone down now, it was getting colder by the minute, and Jesus refused to listen to him.
Relationships: Daryl Dixon/Jesus
Comments: 8
Kudos: 65
Collections: Desus Holiday Bingo 2k19





	I'll Wait Up For You

**Author's Note:**

> a little holiday fluff to warm our hearts (even if I'm a little late!)
> 
> This work was done using the Desus Holiday Bingo, which I found on tumblr, by desussquad. The squares I used are specified at the end!
> 
> Title from Santa Baby, because it was what I randomly named the file I wrote this on.

"He refuses to come inside," Daryl sighed heavily, arms crossed as he slumped against the wall of Barrington House.

Tara beside him snickered, and he didn't have to look to see the dramatic roll of her eyes. 

"Are you that desperate that you're coming to me for advice on your love life?" She mocked. 

Yes. Yes, he was. Because it'd been three hours since the sun had gone down now, it was getting colder by the minute, and Jesus refused to listen to him. He was still stuck there, sitting by the little table they had outside of their trailer. He had a coat on, at least, or Daryl would've dragged him back inside by the neck already, but it was still too cold to be out all night. And it didn't look like the weather was getting any more promising with the clouds rolling in. 

This winter had been kicking all of their asses. It was harsher than the one before, and they hadn't been ready for it. There was still snow on the grounds from two days ago, and it looked like more would be coming tonight. 

"Listen, if he's mad at you, there's nothing anyone can do for you. He's stubborn as hell, and I don't understand how his brain works," Tara said. 

"I did apologize," he mumbled, looking down at his feet as he kicked some rocks on the ground, just for the sake of doing something. "He won't take it." 

"Yeah, he does that," she hummed. "Because you hurt him, so you need to show you're really sorry. And he might sulk for a while. But he'll come around." 

Daryl didn't know how to show that, though. He knew he said something insensitive, and he apologized as soon as he saw Jesus' face fall. But then the man was still sulking, all day, hours later. Probably freezing out of pettiness. It was their first Christmas together -- officially together -- and they were here, wasting time being mad at each other. 

"Stubborn asshole," Daryl grumbled. 

"Yeah. You both are," Tara gave him a sympathetic smile and patted his shoulder twice. "You're both the worst at communicating. And somehow you make it work. It baffles me. But I don't doubt you'll figure it out now. So go talk to him, leave me alone." 

He sighed heavily, but complied, if only because Tara clearly wouldn't be any more help. And he knew he just had to go and talk, like adults, so he would. Daryl wasn't one to run at the sight of trouble. 

Except, when trouble was a pair of blue-green eyes disappointed in him, all he wanted to do was run. 

He'd done it a couple times now, if he was really upset after a fight. Sometimes he needed the forest air and the thrill of hunting to calm his insides and clear his head, a day or two outside the walls, alone. He always came back to a boyfriend that was worried sick, but still greeted him back with a warm hug and nothing more than a tired sigh or two. And that was that. Maybe it wasn't a healthy way of coping, they both knew it, but it worked for them. They talked things out on their own time. 

Jesus closed himself off in different ways. He didn't go on runs alone, but he shut down. He got quiet, distant. Petty. Like tonight. 

When Daryl went back to their trailer, he was still there, sitting outside by the table. His hands were shaking with the cold by now, but they still stubbornly wove together a beautiful wreath with twigs and dry flowers and a bow at the top. His brows were furrowed in concentration and he didn't even glance up when Daryl walked over. 

"There's a storm coming," the hunter declared. 

There was only a grunt in response, quiet enough that it could've been his imagination playing tricks on him. Daryl walked back into their trailer and decided to work to get his mind off things, for a while. He'd made dinner and Jesus still had refused to come inside to eat it. Barely had any from the plate Daryl put outside for him. 

So he'd tidy up now, and at the first sign of snow hitting the ground, he'd drag Jesus back inside. 

He put away their dinner, making sure the leftovers were safely stored, and then cleaned the dishes. He wasn't one to always keep things sparkling inside the trailer, but it might be better to be on Jesus' good side tonight. He didn't mind washing dishes or sweeping or putting away books, he just wanted his boyfriend safely inside on the coldest night of the year. 

He heard the door open eventually, when he was fumbling with one of the christmas lights that had been carefully strung over their little window. The thing had a malfunction and wouldn't turn on sometimes, but Jesus had insisted it was perfect. 

Which was partly the whole reason this argument started. 

Daryl looked over when he heard the door, and saw Jesus walking in, shrugging snow off his shoulders, holding the finished wreath in hands. 

"Thought you didn't care about decorating," he said, his tone cutting and bitter. 

Daryl was more upset that he hadn't realized it was snowing so that he could've pulled Jesus inside sooner. "I don't," he replied, knowing that was a dangerous line to thread. The lights flickered on and off, and he gave up on fixing them for now. "But you do." 

"Yeah, well, god forbid we have a goddamn tree, though," Jesus continued, mumbling under his breath now as he put the wreath onto the kitchen counter. His hands were still shaking, his fingers pale. 

"Okay-- I'm sorry, man," Daryl sighed, turning away from the christmas lights issue to face the other man. Jesus met his eyes with an undeterred anger. "I said I was. I am. 'M trying to compromise. Why's a tree so important to you? It'll take up half the trailer space." 

"I just don't want to have a Grinch for a boyfriend!" He responded, his jaw set and his face pinching closed in frustration. "It's like every time I want to do something fun, and nice, and cute, you shut it down like it's a silly childish thing. We get it, you're the big bad Daryl Dixon, you don't like traditions. I get it. I do. I was just trying to make this Christmas fun for you, but if you don't want it, then fine. I'll take down everything tomorrow or whatever." 

"I like Christmas," Daryl said, blinking in confusion. 

Jesus scoffed, and his whole body seemed to be shaking now, but he kept moving around, so Daryl couldn't see it properly. The scout shrugged off his jacket to hang up, and toed off his boots. 

"You like Christmas like you like everything else. You say you do because I say I do. And then you hate every second of it, and barely pretend to enjoy yourself, and I feel like an idiot for dragging you into it," he murmured, voice quieter now, his eyes not meeting Daryl's. 

Daryl felt like he was arguing with a wall. Jesus was so stubborn that even when he was being told something directly from the source, he still disputed it. But instead of letting this turn into a big thing, the hunter only sighed heavily, and tried to make his case better. 

"I do like Christmas," he insisted. "I just don't think decorating is very useful. We have to take it down later, and it takes so much space. We never used to decorate at my house." 

"Don't pull the family card on me," Jesus protested, but it was said with no anger now, just exhaustion. "You know we've both grown up without any of this." 

"I know," Daryl nodded. "But it's true, we never decorated. I think taking a perfectly healthy pine tree from the forest and into your living room to pamper it up with lights and shiny balls is a little dumb, I'm just being honest here. But that doesn't mean I don't like Christmas. I like…" 

He paused, choking on the words, looking away from Jesus. He heard another doubtful scoff, so he continued on. 

"I like gathering around for dinner, and the laughing, and the music, and the presents. That's what I remember. It was the one day a year that my family would get its act together and be a real family, y'know?" Daryl shrugged. "I like it. I just don't care for decorating." 

Paul didn't look like he wanted to give in, but his eyes cast a guilty glance towards the container filled with leftovers that still rested on the counter. Daryl wasn't hurt by it, he knew it had been a momentary thing. Hopefully they could talk this out and have dinner together the next day. And every day after that. And then it'd be okay. 

"Well, I never did anything but decorating," Jesus said, arms crossing in front of his chest, like he was still trying to argue, even if his voice lacked the fire from before. "We used to decorate the group home, when I was little. And I guess I liked doing that when I grew up, and lived alone, too. I like how it looks." 

Daryl nodded at that, understanding. He didn't particularly like how it looked, because he wasn't big on decorations in general, but he understood. People seemed to like the warm yellow twinkling of the lights, and the godawful shiny balls. And if Jesus liked it, he liked it, too. Not in a way that he'd force himself to tolerate it, as the man had said. Just in the way that he liked anything that made his boyfriend's eyes sparkle. 

He still wouldn't say that word out loud but it warmed his heart to think about it -- boyfriend. 

"Okay. So maybe it's just a misunderstanding," he continued, taking a tentative step closer. "We care about different things on the holidays. It's like that book you have. About languages." 

Paul looked confused for a split second, before he understood. The tiniest of smiles crept onto his lips, before he tried his best to wipe it away, like a stubborn child who insisted to be mad. God, Daryl was so stupidly in love. 

"The Five Love Languages? You read that?" He sounded equal parts skeptical and amused. 

"I skimmed it," Daryl shrugged, as if he had to keep his dignity by not reading those weird self-help books. As if he wasn't dating an avid self-help book reader. 

"So we have different holiday languages, is that what you're saying?" Jesus let his hands down, looking calmer now, even if he wasn't smiling yet. From up closer, Daryl could see he was still shaking, his teeth threatening to chatter. 

The hunter shrugged again. He could sense the tension between them dissipating and he was hoping this would be the end of the fight. Daryl wasn't good with words, but he was good with this, with feeling the room. He could almost always tell where a conversation was going, even if he was bad at participating. And with Paul, they'd been together for a good while now, he could practically read the scout like a book. 

"I'm sorry I didn't eat in here with you," Paul said, his angry façade falling as he stepped closer. His hands reached out hesitantly and Daryl was glad to step into his personal space swiftly. "I thought you thought I was being dumb." 

"I never think you're dumb," Daryl pulled him into a hug, squeezing the trembling cold body against his own warm one. He rubbed at Jesus' back to heat him back up. "And the wreath you made looks good. Y'should hang it on the door." 

The scout hummed against his shoulder, arms squeezing him back. 

"I'm really cold," came the confession, muffled against Daryl's shirt. "You're really warm." 

"I was scared you were gonna freeze to death out there," the hunter sighed, pulling away so he could take the other man's face in hands, cold cheeks against his palms. Blue-green eyes looked up at him, apologetic. 

Then Paul leaned up, hands onto his boyfriend's chest as he closed all the distance between them and pressed their lips together. It was chaste, and sweet, and it felt like finally coming home at the end of a terribly long day. Daryl melted into it, arms around the other's waist to pull him closer and make sure they weren't parting any time soon. 

Except they had to, because Jesus' ice cold hands slid up to his neck and Daryl almost jumped away at the touch. 

"Oh, my God, you're freezing," he hissed, only leaning away enough that he could catch Jesus' hands in his own and check them. His fingers were covered in tiny cuts and bruises, probably from working on the wreath all day without any gloves, and his fingertips were turning blue with cold. "Asshole." 

"Shush, just warm me up," Jesus' tone was suggestive, his body pressing closer as Daryl mashed their hands together to blow hot air over them and heat him up faster. 

"I ain't getting busy with you until your hands are warm again," the hunter huffed, but he still leaned closer to press their foreheads together. "And I'm gonna make you another plate of food. Y'barely ate." 

Jesus didn't protest this time. He only hummed, and let Daryl take care of him, for once. 

And for that moment, Daryl understood why people liked decorating. Because the christmas lights had finally flickered on properly at some point during their argument, and Jesus looked soft under the yellow glow it casted, and Daryl felt like his heart was growing three sizes at the sight. Maybe they had different ideas of what the holidays meant, but they could work it out. 

And some time next week, when someone declared it was officially Christmas day, Daryl would hand over the gift he'd made. It was a simple card that said "I love you" and a handful of new hand-made hair ties because Jesus was always complaining about losing his. 

For now, they could focus on warming each other up, and trading lazy kisses under fairy lights, and letting the storm outside pass. 

"I'm gonna take a shower to warm up," Jesus announced, a smile now tugging at his lips, before he leaned up again for another kiss. The tip of his nose was cold as it pressed into Daryl's cheek. "Then we can get busy." 

The hunter scoffed out a laugh, feeling all the last bits of tension from his shoulders melt away. Jesus looked reluctant to part, but eventually peeled himself off to head into the little trailer bathroom. 

"You gotta tell Tara later that we talked it out," Daryl said, leaning against the counter as he watched his boyfriend. "She said we were bad at communicating." 

"Oh, fuck that. We're great at communicating," Jesus called back, walking into the bathroom and leaving the door open as he started the shower. "I'll kick her ass for saying that. Later." 

"Later," Daryl agreed, the smile on his lips wide and undisguised as he watched Jesus' shirt, then pants come flying out the door and into the living room. 

Daryl lasted about five more seconds before he caved in and joined that shower.

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you liked it! Leave a comment and kudos if you did! 
> 
> This was something silly and fun to write, since I can't update my multichapter fic right now, because holidays!! But we'll resume our regular content after the new years, loves. Sorry for anyone waiting!
> 
> If you're wondering, I'm always unlucky at bingo anyway so I went for random squares: Grinch, Wreath, Arguments (ish?), Cold Hands/Feet and Decorating. But feel free to leave me a comment suggesting any other proper columns/lines I should do if you want to see that.
> 
> Happy holidays everyone!


End file.
